No Words are Said
Louis: Because he’s lost his voice. And everyone, including you, is running around and losing their heads because, holy shit he has a show in two days and he’s lost his voice and what the hell are you gonna do? Everyone is worried, except for him that is. He’s lazing around, basking in all the attention on him, but really wishing they would stop worrying because it’s not that big of a deal, really. His voice will be back in it’s lovely state by tomorrow, he’s sure of it. So he spends the next twenty four hours sending you wild gestures and stupid faces. And when he can’t get you’re attention, he’ll throw pillows or socks or whatever is the nearest thing to him that won’t actually do you any damage because he’s thirsty or bored or just wants to be held. (And maybe tomorrow the second he feels his voice working again, he’s blurting out a slightly raspy, “love love love you so much.”)
Harry: Having not received a text from him for hours after his last snapchat, you were relieved to hear the front door slam, no matter how forcefully. So setting down your book and tea, you make your way down the steps to the front room. The smile immediately drops from your face seeing Harry there finally. Back pressed to the door, and curled in around himself, hands pressed to his face, knees folded up beneath him, and trembling, shaking, sobbing. His breathing is loud and bated and it’s hard to differentiate the shaking between sobs and shivers. And seconds later you’re beside him, pulling his arms away from his face and using all your might to pull him up off the floor. Tiredly, he let’s you drag him to the sofa, stripping off his coat and shoes and curling up under the covers you place over him. He doesn’t stop crying, something he’d usually be embarrassed about. But you’re slightly filled with warmth when even in his state, his hand reaches out greedily for yours.
Niall: Your parents are sleeping is the thing. But when your phone lights up at some insane hour of the night, a new text from Niall saying he’s right outside. You’re padding across your room, pushing the window open slowly and silently, eyes widening in delight at the sight of him. All messy hair and bright eyes and that jacket that makes your heart flutter because he lent it to you that very first night, and his teeth are bitten down into the expanse of his lower lip, hiding the grin he wears when he sees you. Gesturing you down, before holding one finger up to his lips, he grins and then you’re climbing out the window shimmying across the roof and down the trellis of your house, nearly slipping before righting yourself and stepping down beside him, arms wrapping around your waist in a breathless laugh. You’re both quiet until you’re a few blocks away, hands grasped tightly and breath coming out in puffs of vapor in front of you. He grins, and the end of the night is only the beginning.
Zayn: His mouth is moving fervently against yours, so decidedly it’d be kind of hard for any words to be said. And like, one minute you were laughing at something he’d said, commenting on your dancing skills or something like that. And the next, his thumbs were just barely dug under the waistband of your jeans, tugging you closer, closer, closer, until you’re pressed up against him in every way, and his hot breath is just hovering over your lips, before they’re planted heatedly over yours. And you don’t even notice because, hell, his mouth, but he’s walking you backwards, until your back hits the wall, but it’s not the impact that takes your breath right from your lungs. Your hands buried in his hair, tugging and his groans spilling into your mouth, he backs up for only a second to tear his shirt over his head. And when he takes a step back to do so, you open your mouth to say something, he’s pushing you back up against the wall and licking into your mouth until you forget what it was you were gonna say to begin with.
Liam: Because he’s sleeping. And it’s not something that happens much, you waking up before him. But when it does, it’s something you like to keep in your mind, and to yourself, because it’s a different side of him. And he doesn’t even know it, but you watch, no matter how creepy you may feel for the shortest moment. Because he’s always so upbeat and high energy all the time and loudloudloud and where he is, there’s always people, there’s always music, there’s always laughter. And it’s time like these, when it’s quiet and he looks at ease. Because there’s times when he just needs a break from it all, when he’s frustrated, when he’s focused on whatever it is, and the crease between his brow is present and slightly daunting. But now he’s relaxed and calm and quiet, and his hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed and he looks a little confused in his sleep because you’re not wrapped up underneath him. And you should be embarrassed when you feel his ankle nudge yours and he cracks an eye open and catches you. But you aren’t.
